Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Crazy McPsycho

This weekend, I cleaned out my closet, which is why AT THIS VERY MOMENT there is a huge pile of clothes on my bedroom floor. Like I do with most household projects, I got bored about halfway through and could barely finish putting everything back on hangers and hanging it all back in my closet in the correct order. Pants are separated by color and type. Khakis, black pants, jeans, capris. Sweaters are neatly folded and placed on the closet shelf. Tops are separated by sleeve length. And occasion. You can't have short-sleeve t-shirts hanging next to long-sleeved, button-down silky shirts. I know most people don't have t-shirts hanging in their closet, but I have not progressed to cleaning out my dresser and there is really no more room in those drawers to be shoving anything. And hanging t-shirts in my closet is a step up from my usual brand of storing recently-washed clothing, which is keeping it in the laundry basket (sometimes even folded!) until I wear it again.

Back to the huge pile of clothes. By the time I got everything arranged in my closet, something that took much longer than I thought it would, I didn't have the energy to sit on the floor and neatly fold the clothing I had decided to get rid of. So it's still sitting there. Yesterday Phoebe tried to use it for a bed, but as she was kneading a pair of jeans the pile kind of toppled over and she was forced to run away and hide under the bed. What a pussy.

This is one of those entries that I have just completely lost interest in so it would probably be smart to just delete it, because if I don't want to write it, who will want to read it? No one. Except maybe someone suffering from insomnia.

Oh wait. So, one of my new year's resolutions was to submit at least three things for publication. If I don't procrastinate (ha!), I may fulfill one third of this resolution. The Dayton Daily News is having a short story and poetry contest and entries are due by March 1st. That gives me over a month to write at least one short story (you're allowed to submit two). I don't think I'll even attempt poetry because I have always been poetry's bitch and I don't feel like getting spanked. I told my parents I might submit this story I wrote in college, about this guy who shows up on his brother's doorstep late one night, borrows a shovel, asks the brother to go on an errand with him, drives out to a secluded area in the woods, makes his brother dig a hole and then shoots and buries him. Sorry to ruin the ending. I changed my mind based on the weird looks I got from my parents. I don't think Dayton is ready for my warped mind.

Monday, January 30, 2006

Dr. McCuddly

I need a roommate like George so I have someone to spoon with on bad days. Phoebe doesn't like spooning.

Friday, January 27, 2006

smitten kitten

Am I the only one who gets pissed that a boy can make me all giggly and stupid and blushy? Especially when I long ago decided that said boy is no longer allowed to be doing these things.


back to "normal"

Last night, I spent some much needed time cleaning my apartment. After a week of coming home only to grab a quick dinner (mmm, Hot Pocket) and sleep, my apartment looked like that big pile of garbage from Fraggle Rock. You know what I'm talking about? The pile of garbage that talked? And there were like two rats who hung out there? What was up with that show? Were the Fraggles always high? They always had the munchies and were all, "I'm gonna eat the dozers constructions and then laugh about it because I am a big, fluffy, Fraggle slacker." Maybe I'm a little high.

ANYWAY. Last week at some time I realized that Phoebe had peed in my bed. My bed. The place where I SLEEP. Do you want to know how I realized this? I pulled back the covers, sat down, and then jumped up when I realized my ass was wet. I was so tired at that point that I actually wondered if I had peed myself. I was also too tired to change my sheets, so I pulled them off and stuffed them in the washer, sprayed some stuff on the pee stain, flipped my mattress and curled up under my comforter. Last night I washed the sheets. I am disgusting. And I should probably just throw those sheets away.

Phoebe is now banned from my room, except at night when I am actually sleeping in my bed, aka the biggest litter box known to man and cat besides the beach but Phoebe has never been to the beach so she doesn't know. The first time she pees on the bed when I am actually in it, she is going to be banned to the bathroom forever and ever. Not really, though. That seems like a lot of work to keep her in the bathroom all the time.

Last night, as I was rushing to get the trash to the dumpster before The Office started (and oh my god, how good was it? I laughed. Out loud. LOL.), I hoped that I would never be kidnapped while I am taking the garbage out at night. Mostly, because it would suck to be kidnapped, unless you're being kidnapped by hot FBI Agent Mulder who I realize does not exist but leave me in my special, made-up world of make-believe, will you? But also because I was wearing pink Pebbles-print pajama pants (hello, alliteration, how are you?), brown clogs, my pea coat and no bra. You do not want to be kidnapped without a bra. Trust me. It can provide support AND be used as a weapon.

Thursday, January 26, 2006


Yesterday was the day. The pick-me-up. I walked into my mom's room in the ICU and she was back. From Sunday to Tuesday she'd come back in spurts. Periods of lucidness followed by long fugue states in which she'd think she was folding laundry, scolding the dog, or telling people how to fix their computer. She was resting but it wasn't restful.

Last night, she was herself again. Not 100% healed but awake. Able to carry on conversations with us. Tired, weak, but THERE.

This past week has been such a blur. My routine has been hospital, work, hospital, home, sleep, hospital, work, hospital, home, sleep. Yesterday I went to the grocery, the first non-hospital, non-work thing I've done all week, because Phoebe had about four pieces of cat food left. I've lost five pounds. Stress is a great diet.

I just calculated that I have driven back and forth to the hospital sixteen times in the past week. Damn, Gina.

I wish I had something more eloquent to say, but I'm just so relieved. And grateful for all the people in my life who have made this whole situation somewhat bearable. That includes you, Internets. All of your nice comments really did help. Sometimes it seems so strange to me that I have these tenuous relationships with voices over the internet. I don't really KNOW any of you and yet I find myself thinking about you at times. If we didn't all live billions of miles away from each other, I would so hang out with all of you.

I'll bring the wine.

Saturday, January 21, 2006

Paging Dr. McDreamy

My dad's voice this time was different. Calmer. Worried. But like he'd been expecting it.

Your sister found your mom unconscious in the basement. I'm on my way home now. I hope I get there before the ambulance.

I had been on the way to the grocery for the second time. On my first attempt, I realized I had forgotten my cell phone and, fearing possible car trouble, turned around (never having actually made it to the store) to get it. A couple minutes later, my phone rang. I didn't make it to the grocery that time, either.

This time was different, yet all too familiar. Same ER. Same time of day. Same family members holding vigil in the waiting area.

Like last time, she's back in the ICU. For observation. They can find no possible reason she would collapse, twice, and remain unconscious for hours. Last night Dr. YawnsALot met us in the ICU and told us that, while Mom was stable, they would be running the normal abbreviations. EEG. MRI. EKG. WTF?

This morning, I was hoping that, like last time, we'd march into Mom's room and she'd be awake. Tired. Weak. But awake. She wasn't. And as of 8 o'clock this evening, she still wasn't. This is like last time, but like all sequels, things have to get just a little more fucked up.

The doctors have all but told us that they're grasping at straws and have absolutely no explanation for Mom's situation. Dr. McNotDreamy, between poking my mother in the face with a safety pin and pounding on her legs with a mallet, told us that if they did happen to find out what had caused her . . . episode (?) and that if they found out how to fix it, they'd have something publishable. Whatever motivates you, Dr. McNotDreamy. Can you please tell Dr. House about this? He could solve it in less than an hour and then I would heart him forever.

I was holding it together fairly well, aside from having evil thoughts about the hospital chaplain (who meant well, but really, I just wanted her to leave us alone and no I did NOT really want to pray but, because I am polite and would have felt awkward leaving the room, did anyway). Who does that, though? I had evil thoughts about a (wo)MAN OF GOD.

The holding it together lasted until I called my friend Mary and proceeded to leave a five minute voicemail, first crying and then laughing about crying and then generally going locobeans until the Verizon lady jumped in and told me that I'd reached my time limit. Thanks, Verizon lady.

Now I am at my apartment. Doing laundry. On a Saturday. Is it Saturday? I keep losing track of the day. I'm hoping my dad will call after he calls the ICU. I told him not to call unless he had good news, such as Mom woke up long enough to exchange a few words with the nurse. So here I sit. Waiting for my phone to ring so I can quit being Gloomy McSadPants.

Friday, January 20, 2006

I love those cupcakes like McAdams loves Gosling

Lately, I've developed the bad habit of staying up late for absolutely no reason, even when I know I have to be up early the next morning. My logic? I'm going to be tired when I wake up no matter what time I go to bed, so I might as well enjoy myself rather than lie in bed awake thinking about how much sleep I can get if I fall asleep RIGHT NOW.

So instead, I read. And read and read. Which isn't a big change. It's been my nighttime ritual ever since I could remember. I read before bed. It's not even a question, there are books on my nightstand as I type. The Lovely Bones (finished), Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife (finished once, now halfway through a reread), and The Poisonwood Bible (finished last night at 1:30 AM). Books clutter my apartment. They seem to multiply when I am not there. I've even started selling some of the ones I don't read anymore. You know, those stuck-up books (James Joyce, I'm looking at you) from college that I keep saying I'll eventually pick up again so I don't keep reading Me Talk Pretty One Day over and over. I think I've realized that I am never going to make myself read Moby Dick again, no matter how starved for reading material I am.

Right now, I'm looking forward to reading The Kite Runner, which I checked out from the library once I paid my fine ($10.50, ouch). Does anyone else read a couple books at a time? I mean, I'm kind of still in the middle of reading Emma, Pride and Prejudice, and Lucky, all of which I have read before. If I'm reading something depressing, I like to have something lighthearted on the nightstand to lift me out of any crying jags I may have. Also, I like to read during commercials but you need an uncomplicated book for that.

I also read as I walk around the apartment. I read while brushing my teeth, eating, vacuuming. Which might explain all of the bruises on my body. It's hard not to run into walls and such when your head is buried in a book.

Who am I kidding? I run into walls anyway, with or without a book in my hands.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

If you don't want to read another post about Lost, then just go away (no, wait, please come back!)

People on Lost Island that I would kill off, and the order in which I would kill them:

Ana Lucia
Locke (only sometimes)

People on Lost Island I would be more than happy to spend the rest of eternity locked in an underground bunker with:

Eko, if he promised not to kill me
Michael, if he would stop obsessing about Walt. Ha. That is cold-hearted. Sorry.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Good morning, sunshine!

This morning, I woke up around 3:30 to the sounds of my upstairs neighbors having loud and what sounded like violent sex. Seriously. I could hear the bed bouncing off of the floor. And to think, all I've had to complain about them so far is their predilection for vacuuming at midnight. Oh, and the dog peeing off of their balcony onto my porch, but I think they've gotten rid of it.

They are officially never allowed to complain about any loud parties I may have, the off-key singing along to my MP3 player, the insane laughter on Tuesday (Scrubs) and Thursday (The Office) nights, or the gasping and shouting on Wednesday nights (Lost).

Between the vacuuming and the sex (neither of which was I a part of) I'm pretty damn tired today.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

I fell into a burning ring of fire

You're probably thinking I went and saw Walk the Line or something, but NO, I really fell into a ring of fire. It was all hot and fiery.

Ok, not really. I got off of work early yesterday and decided to spend the beautiful, sunny, 50 degree afternoon in a dark movie theater. So, although it is raining today, I decided not to complain since I totally wasted yesterday's beautiful weather. The movie was worth it, though. I want to have about 10,000 of Joaquin Phoenix's babies.

The decision to see the movie on a day when kids are off school and most people are off work, however? Not my brightest move. I went by myself again, taking one more step toward becoming Crazy Loner Cat Lady and sat in the back row, a few seats down from what looked like high school kids. I didn't think anything of it. Although they were being kind of loud before the show, I figured they would quiet down once the actual movie began. So naive. After a while, since my bladder is the size of a tiny, tiny, withered up pea (ha, get it? pea? pee? haha?) I had to go to the restroom and when I got back I chose a different seat. Unfortunately, two old ladies were sitting in front of me. Look, I realize they were all old and their hearing is probably not the greatest but seriously, Granny 1 and Granny 2, shut the hell up.

My biggest pet peeve is talking during a movie and NOT just in the movie theater. If I am watching a movie for the first time, I like complete silence. I realize that when I'm watching a movie with other people in someone's home I have no right to demand this, so I'll deal with the chatter but I WON'T LIKE IT. And in a movie theater? Oh my god. Stop talking. You are not in your living room. When you speak, it makes me want to hurt someone and that someone is you.

I should have known better. This theater is notoriously bad for movie-talkers. I believe it was at this theater that I politely told a teenage girl to turn around and shut the fuck up, after she shushed someone who asked her to get off of her phone. I suppose all the movie-talking is probably because tickets only cost $2.50 (it's a second-run theater) and who cares if you miss something during a show that cheap?

Well, I do so shut up.

Monday, January 16, 2006


Apparently, Phil knew just how bored I am today and also that I have nothing to talk about except that my neck is sore from the violent vomiting yesterday.

Four jobs you have had in your life:

Library Aide
Sales Associate
Treatment Coordinator
FBI Special Agent

Four movies you could watch over and over:

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Dead Poets Society
Breakfast at Tiffany's
. . . haha, just kidding, that movie sucks
Pride and Prejudice (the miniseries and yes that counts)

Four places you've lived:

Centerville, Ohio
Kettering, Ohio
Springfield, Ohio
Miamisburg, Ohio
It is time to get out of Ohio

Four TV shows you love to watch:

Grey's Anatomy
Arrested Development
The Office

Four places you've been on vacation:


Four of your favorite foods:

Peanut butter
Chips and salsa
Mashed potatoes
I am boring

Four sites I visit daily:

This is Not Over

Damn Hell Ass Kings
Television Without Pity

Four Bloggers you are tagging:


Sunday, January 15, 2006

no more vomit in my life

This morning my body gently reminded me that I am no longer in college, and should not try to relive my glory days and drink like I still am, when it decided to spend ten minutes vomiting into my friend's toilet while her cat watched with mild interest. I say ten minutes but it may have been longer. It's hard to keep track of time when you have your head in a toilet. I am so proud.

To be fair, this is only the third time I have ever vomited from drinking. And this time, I think it was because I hadn't eaten much yesterday. Also, it is not a good idea to go to a bar where they have a 7 dollar all-you-can-drink beer special. Because I will try to get my money's worth!

And now it is time for my fifth nap of the day. I'm like a cat. Meow!

Friday, January 13, 2006

Dear Ohio, you are a cold-hearted bitch and I hope you burn in hell

Sigh. Ohio is such a tease. Yesterday was quite possibly the most beautiful January day outside of somewhere like Hawaii, where beautiful days are like . . . I don't know. Fruit flies. You know. Because there are a lot of fruit flies? And a lot of beautiful days? In Hawaii?

Ohio is another case entirely, especially during the cold, bitter months of December, January, February, oh yes, and sometimes March. And April. Let us not forget that last year when I moved into my apartment it snowed like crazy all day and it was APRIL FREAKING 20TH. Snow and April should not go together like peas and carrots or Forrest Gump and Jenny (not me).

Anyway. So yesterday, right? Beautiful. The temperature may not have been quite 60 degrees, but it was so close, practically kissing and lying on top of 60 degrees, that it did not even matter. The sun was out, a slight breeze was blowing, and I got to enjoy it for about 5 minutes on the way too and back from lunch. Again, I say SIGH. If only, I thought, this day had come one day earlier or one day later, I would be off work at a reasonable enough time to enjoy it. But alas, I was trapped, held captive at work until after 7. Not to abuse the word, but sigh.

Today, I walked out of my apartment wearing a long-sleeved shirt and a fleece, and was surprised when the warm air caressed my cheek. Warm air is very flirtatious. My stomach did an excited flip-flop because today, magically, I get off work early. I was already planning my first trip of the year to Cox Arboretum. When suddenly, ever so cruelly, the skies opened and rain came pouring down. The weatherman came on the radio at that very moment to tell me that, no, Jennie, you will not be going on a pleasant hike this afternoon. Instead, you will try to run errands without getting soaking wet and looking like a drowned corpse. Good luck with that.

Oh, Ohio. You skank.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

wtf, mate?

I don't know if this happens to anyone else, but pretty much the only thought running through my head while I watch Lost is . . . "What the fuck? No, seriously. What. The. Fuck."

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Subtlety is my middle name

Once there was a girl named Janey. Janey worked in an office. One day, Coworker came to her with a handful of half-shredded paper and told her that the shredder was full. Janey stared at Coworker blankly. Apparently "shredder refuse remover" was listed alongside "office bitch" in her job description.

Janey, never one to ruffle feathers, emptied the shredder. A short time later, Coworker approached her again, a familiar fan of almost-confetti clutched in her hand, and told Janey that the shredder was full. This continued. Janey got fed up.

One day Janey walked into the room that held the beloved shredder and saw a peculiar site. A stack of papers was stuck halfway into the shredder, waving at her. Janey asked Coworker what was wrong with the shredder.

"Oh, I think it's broken," Coworker replied.

Janey knew better. The shredder was not broken, just full, and Coworker was either too dumb to know the difference or pretending to be oblivious to the obvious so she wouldn't have to dump the shredder herself. Janey had an idea. Tired of being the only one to empty said shredder, she decided to see how long it would take before someone else would empty it. She would call it The Shredder Standoff of 2005. It was very familiar to The Trashcan Standoff and Ice Cube Tray Standoff of 2004 that she had with her roommates, the ones she's still not sure they were even aware they were a part of.

Every now and then, Janey would watch Coworker walk in to use the shredder then return to her desk with a puzzled look on her face.

"I guess the shredder is still broken," Coworker said.

"Guess so," said Janey.

Meanwhile, whenever Janey had something to shred, she would surreptitiously tear each paper into tiny pieces and throw them in her trashcan. She was sure that soon Coworker would realize that the shredder merely needed emptied, take care of it, and the problem of the shredder, as well as who was responsible for dumping it, would be solved.

It's been two months. TWO MONTHS. Poor Janey has reached the end of her rapidly fraying rope. She is very close to breaking. Please give her strength.

Monday, January 09, 2006

I just injected coffee straight! into! my veins!

This weekend was like the opposite of last weekend, in that I last Friday and Saturday I probably slept for about 5 hours combined and this weekend I think I got approximately 405 hours of sleep. It was glorious.

When I wasn't sleeping, I was reading Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife which, let's face it, is like crack to me because IT IS ABOUT MR. DARCY. Just because I don't talk about my Mr. Darcy obsession constantly anymore (shut up, I do not) doesn't mean it went away.

I don't know if I mentioned this but many, many months ago I started Weight Watchers. I didn't go to meetings or anything because that would have involved getting to something on time every week (!) and I can only do that so many times a week and I think work should be first when it comes to getting to things on time. So, instead, I just started counting points which, honestly, is like learning another language. Now, I hardly ever need to calculate the points. Just ask me how many points something is and I can probably tell you. I am fluent in Weight Watchers.

Anyway, though, guess what! Limiting your portions and exercising really do work! It's amazing. I'm not exactly sure how much weight I lost, but I did get to buy new jeans when I discovered that I could pull the old ones on and off without unbuttoning them. That could have led to an unfortunate incident especially with the amount of alcohol I consume.

Over the holidays, what with the parties and the food and the wine, the whole diet thing kind of went out the window and then hitchhiked to Mexico, all despondent because it had been abandoned. I didn't gain any weight, but I stopped losing it as well. So as of January 7th I started counting points again. Bleh. I was going to start on January 1st but hello! January 1st is a horrible day to start a diet because you need to feed your hangover and hangovers are picky, hungry bitches. Also, my friend Kate in MALAWI AFRICA (don't you go stalking her now*) said she picked January 7th as an arbitrary date to quit smoking so I figured if it's good enough for Africa, it's good enough for me. I'll work my way up to actual physical activity later.

*My dad thought that because I invited the entire Internet to my party, and because the Internet knows what city I live in and what my last name is and that I live at . . . haha, just kidding, I'm not telling, but anyway, he thought the Internet would show up on my doorstep! So thank you for proving him wrong and also for not stalking me.

Saturday, January 07, 2006

the world has turned and left me here

It's been a solitary weekend. Well, except for the part where I went to work this morning. Yes, on Saturday. I don't want to talk about it.

I suppose I can't complain. I got off work early on Friday. So I went to a movie. By myself. First time ever. In the past, whenever I saw someone alone at a movie I had some thought along the lines of, "how sad, they don't have anyone to go to the movies with," but I quite enjoyed it. I'm not gonna go all Carrie Bradshaw and say the city was my date because wtf is that? Carrie Bradshaw is a dipshit. Plus, I would never date Dayton even though it sounds like "dating" minus the G. We are not compatible. I have yet to find a city I am compatible with because if I had I would be living there. Tangent complete.

The thing is, I could have called someone who probably would have met me at the movie theater, but I didn't. I wanted to be alone. I fear I could very easily become one of those people who wanders around muttering to herself, who would rather be alone than put up with the nonsense of other people.

After work this morning, I wasn't content to sit alone at home, I wanted to be alone around other people. So I went shopping. But not really, because I didn't buy anything. I made eye contact with strangers but didn't talk to anyone.

Sometimes I need to be alone. The act of putting words into sentences and then trying to verbalize it is exhausting. I can't pretend laugh anymore. I don't want to pretend anything anymore.

So tonight I plan on listening to my MP3 player and read. Alone. I sometimes wonder if it's a good idea to listen to my MP3 player alone, because what if someone smashed in my window and snuck up behind me? A zombie could be very slowly cracking its way through the patio door and I wouldn't hear a damn thing because I am singing "Proud Mary" at the top of my lungs.

And I wonder why my neighbors avoid eye contact.

If you'll excuse me, I need to go check the porch for zombies.

Friday, January 06, 2006

If Kat can write about dreams and make it sound interesting, then maybe I'm wrong (which is very rare) (ha!)

I dreamt about you last night. And that hardly ever happens. Not lately. We were on a boat and I was seasick, even though I never get seasick. You stood behind me as I threw up into the water, patting my back through the most violent spasms. You then led me to sit down, tenderly wiping my face clean with a towel, and brought me a glass of water.

I apologized. You shook your head. Asked me if I was feeling better. I nodded.

The hard bench I was sitting on turned into a bed, the magic of dreams, and I rested on my side, arms crossed over my ailing stomach. You stretched out beside me, big spoon, little spoon, and we fell asleep holding hands.

I promise, the next time we see each other I won't be vomiting. But thanks for holding my hair back.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Mr Darcy is the hit of my pants (one person will get that)

I saw Pride and Prejudice last night. Yeah. I can’t make up my mind about it. I suppose I liked this version, but let’s face it. It just can’t compare to the miniseries, at least in my mind. I know it’s hard to squeeze six hours (or 300 pages) of material into two, but it seemed like things moved much too quickly. It probably doesn’t help that I can recite most of the lines to the miniseries along with it because I have seen it an embarrassing number of times. Or maybe I’ve read the book too many times, but really? Can you read the book too many times? As soon as I got back from the movie I pulled it off of my shelf to start reading again. It’s my Once-a-Year book. Ok, one of them.

Anyway, I thought almost everyone was really good in this version, and I was very skeptical when I heard Kiera Knightley was playing Elizabeth. But here it is. Every time Mr. Darcy appeared on screen, I couldn’t help thinking, “Hey! You’re not Colin Firth!”*

Although, at the end? When Mr. Not Colin Firth is walking through the fog and the music is swelling and he looks all disheveled and in luuuuuurve? Yeah. I’d hit that.**

*Amy, am I right?
**My parents are so proud right now.

the one where you all find out how disgusting I am

The past two nights I have dreamt about work. That tells you how exciting my life is right now. Although, after the past couple of weeks it's kind of nice to have nothing to do, except I keep think that I should be doing something. Do you want to know how much nothing I have to do? On Sunday, I watched the entire six hours of Pride and Prejudice. Six. Hours. When I say watched, though, I mean I saw bits and pieces of it between naps. Because, you know, only two hours of sleep makes you tired. Don't worry, I woke up for the Colin Firth In a Wet, White Shirt scene. That is the most important part of the whole movie.

I still have my sultry voice from the weekend. And by sultry I mean my deep, emphysema-y, Peter-Brady-puberty-voice-cracking, mucasy voice. Sexy, right?

I haven't finished cleaning up from my New Year's party yet, either. I suck at life. Last night, I was watching TV and noticed that there are beer pong balls stuck in the groove of the sliding glass door but I was too tired (read: lazy) to pick them up. So they're still there. Where they will probably stay for some duration. They're bright orange, so I think they add a little something to the room. Also, I just remembered that yesterday morning before work I noticed that someone had spilled Coke (Nick!) down the dishwasher, but I didn't have time to clean it so I was going to do it after work. Yeah. I forgot. So that's probably a big, fun, sticky mess right now, unless Phoebe licked it off.

Speaking of Phoebe, a couple of weeks ago I realized that I hadn't cleaned the bathroom floor in, um, forever? So I decided to sweep and Swiffer it. To do so, I had to remove the area rug I had put in there. The moment I picked it up, this waft of pee-smell punched me RIGHT IN THE FACE and I almost passed out. For real, yo. I promise not to say that ever again. Also, I didn't really almost pass out. But the smell was strong and disgusting and catpee-like. I looked at the bottom of the rug, where they put the rubber so it doesn't slide around because that would lead to fun and breaking of arms and such, and noticed that there were little circles of yellow all over it. Everywhere. Apparently, Phoebe had been using the rug as a larger, more spacious toilet than her litter box. I've noticed she pees on stuff sometimes when her litter box is not completely clean and pristine, like, I'm sorry, CAT, but you poo and pee in it, it's not going to smell like chocolate and roses. This doesn't usually bother me that much because I find it right away. What disgusts me is that I've been walking over this rug for weeks in my bare feet AFTER I SHOWER. I walk through it on the way to the toilet, on the way back from the toilet, in and out of the shower, as I wash my face, brush my teeth, stare at my pores in the mirror, ALL THE TIME. This explains why Phoebe always stares at me from the hallway while I'm in the bathroom. She's wondering why the crazy bitch she lives with is walking through her toilet.

Monday, January 02, 2006

Saturday night I knew how to say Happy New Year in Portuguese but now I've forgotten

I hope everyone had a good weekend. I can tell that I did because today I have no voice, something that only happens when my friend Mary comes to visit. Usually as a result of staying up too late talking. Or, on Saturday (early Sunday?) because we decided to battle three boys with foam coasters and ping pong balls. And then they built a fort. At one point, I looked around my living room, covered in coasters, napkins, and a FORT, and realized that five adults (technically) were responsible for the mess. And also it was 8 o'clock in the morning. When I noticed that part, I actually thought someone had set the clock forward as they had earlier in the evening (making us think at 10:30 that it was quarter to midnight) but no. It was 8. In the morning. Yawn. Then we all took a two hour nap, woke up, had another half-hearted coaster/napkin battle and took our unwashed, smelly selves to Perkins where we had the worst service EVER. Our waiter did have a funny mustache, though. So that's something.

On Friday, Mary and I met two other friends at Applebees for dinner, planning to go directly back to my apartment afterward so we could get a good night's sleep. Best laid plans, right? We ended up at a bar called Bo JANGLES. Best. Name. Ever. I like how it looks like a person's name. Hi, this is my friend Bo. Bo JANGLES. And there was karaoke. And many, many pitchers of beer. How Mary and I stayed up until 8 AM yesterday I do not know.

Sorry this is so boring. I realize that the most boring blog entries are usually either about some weird dream (no one cares about your dreams unless they are in them, fyi) or about nights out drinking with friends. But unfortunately (for you anyway) that's all I did this weekend. Except for the dreaming. You probably have to sleep for more than two hours for that.